Whispers
by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa
Summary: FFXV Kink Meme: The magic of the Crystal is no kind, soft lover; it wraps its fingers around its King's throat and takes what it wants. In exchange, the Crystal gives unimaginable, untold power...The price for such power? A soul. Gladio realizes before it's too late; he and Noctis have a moment of comfort before the dawn. (lightly ties to "In Somnis Veritas.") OT4 hints/mostly Gen


**Whispers**

 **By** : Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-

 **Warnings** : Slight horror elements, pain, minor mentions of blood and gore. Brief, non-graphic mentions of OT4 (Gladio/Ignis/Prompto/Noctis)

 **Author Notes** : This was inspired by the Kink Meme (surprise surprise...) however, I will admit that this kind of idea was already kicking through my head. You will probably notice that a lot of my writing about the Crystal has a very set head-canon. However, I don't want you guys to worry. This story is kind of held together with another set of stories of mine (it's part of my "Pains" universe) however you don't need to read that to understand this one. Basically, that particular universe is just me writing about all the pain and agony I force the OT4 through. "In Somnis Veritas" is part of that universe. I hope to kind of add more and more sad, goopy bits into it into the future. I like beating up on the boys and their feelings.

 **Kink Meme Prompt** : What if the bros are there when noct has to put the ring on. Maybe they need him to use it when getting that final weapon from the tomb or maybe the boys aren't separated but all their weapons are failing so they need the ring. They are shocked/horrified at how much pain the ring causes noct and gladio feels guilty for giving him a hard time about the ring. Also maybe the boys are even more scared of the fact that while they knew the ring/crystal power would eventually kill noct, seeing/hearing noct in so much pain really drives that fact home.

Make it as angsty as you want, I just want hurt/comfort, maybe noct and gladio having a proper make up talk after all the arguing.

* * *

 **Whispers**

Everything was red.

Noctis tried to fight against the burning sensation of his hand, the way the ring ripped open the core of his magic and _pulled_.

He knew it was his duty, knew that the Ring of the Lucii courted no favors and granted no peace. He had grown up to the stories of long ago ancestors who had worn the Ring and allowed it to consume them. It would steal their souls if they went too far into the magic and the deep, swirling red.

How many had fallen into the magic, into the agony and overwhelming _wrongness_ that was his family's chain to bear?

He knew of at least thirteen who were deemed worthy; each of their weapons were his to wield with the promise of his own blood as payment. They were made of Crystal, too. To wield them came with the cost of his blood, just like the Ring.

Nothing good came from forbidden magic.

And yet there were no other options. Not now.

He tried to ignore the pain sweeping through his entire body as the Ring pulled and pulled. He wanted to lift his hands up to cover his ears, but if he did it would end the spell. He needed it to continue.

He grit his teeth together and tried to ignore _ **its**_ whispers. The red filminess to his sight made everything so much darker and more _inviting_. Noctis knew not to go into the blood-red light.

But it was _calling_ to him, _singing_ to his very magic.

No, not to his magic.

It was singing _**for**_ his magic.

Noctis stared at the daemon in front of him, her massive serpentine, slit eyes staring down at him. She was mid-strike, usually too fast for the human eye to see. Yet, with the Ring, Noctis could see the ripple of her scales and the curvature of her fangs as she tried to slide them into Gladio. He couldn't stop the Serpentess without the Ring…

He needed to protect Gladio. Gladio, whose two scars across his face were the easiest way for Noctis to know it was him… that it was _really_ him. Time from the Crystal had stolen ten years from his lovers and yet here they were. Here was Gladio with a Serpentess's fangs ready to pierce his flesh. Here was his greatest mistake. Here was his weakness. Here was Gladio. Here was his failure.

Noctis would never be good enough for Gladio. His Shield deserved a better king. He deserved a stronger king, one worthy of Gladio's strength or Ignis's mind or Prompto's brightness.

Ten years. He had already given into the Crystal for ten years—no.

His soul had already been sold to the Crystal. What was a little more?

Noctis could feel it across his face, shattering and ripping at his skin. It was the fire underneath and it _burned_. He wanted to scream, to pull off the ring and throw it across the underground subway station, but he kept pushing. Harder and harder, longer and longer.

He could feel the blood vessels in his nose burst and warm, red blood trickle down his face. It was almost a comfort; it was cooler than the fire raging underneath.

Noctis slowly closed his hand, watching as the small fragments of Crystal coalesced around her.

She couldn't have him. Not Gladio. Not any of them.

The whispering grew louder and louder as Noctis pulled at the very fabric of magic and life and Eos. It bent to his will and Noctis wished that meant he was strong, but he knew it was the opposite. With each moment the blood dripped faster, the burning intensified, and Noctis would only find out later that though he thought he had been silent….

For those long moments as Alterna ripped the universe apart, all he could do was scream.

He couldn't hear himself over the sound of **_its_** whisper.

* * *

Gladio watched in horror as Noctis slipped the Ring on and reached out, but at first he was unsure as to why. It was like a deep, instinctive human urge. Fight or flight, except there was no running from the magic of the Crystal. Nothing could run from it; no matter where you were, what you did, the Crystal was there in the King… and it could do as it pleased.

He had grown up listening to stories from his father on what the Crystal could do. Destroy daemons, throw up a wall around an entire metropolis, rip apart reality, murder a king… but he had never really understood.

Not really.

The Ring of the Lucii took power from those it considered worthy, draining life and energy from the body until there was nothing but a weak shell of a King left. Gladio had always assumed that it took energy from the body, from the blood of the Kings. Yet as he watched Noctis's blood boiling under his skin, splashing across his face as he ripped the universe open to save him from the Serpentess…

He _knew_ now.

It wasn't the body, because Gladio understood physical pain. He had seen Noctis in physical pain before, had seen him after Altissia and after the Marilith attack as a child. He had nearly died twice, and yet… it wasn't the body. It wasn't.

The Ring of the Lucii fed on the _soul_.

Gladio vomited when he hit the ground; long heaves and chokes, unable to control his stomach. The entire underground station smelled of burning corpses and ozone and disease, a smell that Gladio had never understood before— it was the same taint that had seeped into Noctis's skin after the Marilith attack. It clung to his skin like an unwelcome lover and Gladio had never understood what it was.

 _ **Magic**_.

The price of the Ring wasn't just giving up a life. It was giving up a _soul_.

Gladio pulled himself together as quick as he could, brushing the vomit from his lips with the back of his sleeve. The taste rolled on his tongue like swallowing acid but he didn't allow himself the time to spit or even clean the splatter from his beard. The sounds that Noctis was making, between a wail and an animal's death throes, made every hair on his body stand at attention.

"Noctis, Noctis!" Ignis yelled, voice breaking as he dropped his knives to the ground, running toward the sound of Noctis's screams. Gladio wasn't close enough to Ignis to pull him away from the Ring, but thankfully Prompto was close on his heels.

Prompto threw Ignis down to the ground in just enough time, the vortex of the Crystal suctioning into a circle where Ignis's head had been only a moment before.

"Gladio—get it off him!" Prompto screamed, and Gladio threw himself down and slid toward Noctis. He could feel his leather pants tearing at the knees and the grit of ten years of daemon shit and Six knew what else penetrating his skin, but he had only one goal. He grabbed Noctis's hand and grunted, feeling the tips of his fingers burning. It didn't matter how much it hurt, because…

This was _physical_ pain.

The stone on the Ring glowed blood red until Gladio was able to rip it off, throwing it as far away as he could manage.

And like that, Noctis was silent.

He could hear the dull clink of the ring on the subway station yellow and gray stone. It echoed.

Gladio gathered Noctis in his arms, never realizing just how small the other man had been. After his return from the Crystal, Noctis had been so careful to not allow any of them to touch him. He should have known the under Noct's clothes there was nothing but skin and bones. Protruding ribs, flesh hanging awkwardly from where muscle had once been… if Noctis had been a normal man, had he not been the King of Kings, his legs wouldn't have been able to withstand the weight.

But the magic, that fucking Crystal…

Gladio's hands shook as he cradled his Noctis close to his chest, listening to the cracking and gasping breaths wrack through him. He was so small, so fragile. How could this be his spitfire and terrified but _good_ King?

How had he not…. How had he not noticed?

"Noct, Noct! Fuck, Noct—" Gladio tried his best to not shake Noctis, despite how he just wanted him to open his fucking eyes. If he could open his eyes, if he could just show that there was still something there and he hadn't lost himself to the Crystal, then Gladio could…. He could…

Fuck. Gladio didn't know what he could possibly do. He felt like he was seven years old again, his father wiping the floor with him. He wasn't strong. A Shield needed to be swift, powerful, unwilling to bend. Steel did not break, did not chip, did not dull. He was Amicitia steel, he was better than the rest. He was an Amicitia Shield, he was Noctis's Shield. An Amicitia's hands did not shake, but like a tree in a hurricane he could not help but to bend to its will.

He was weak. He was nothing. He couldn't protect Noctis from the Ring, he couldn't fight against the Ring…

"Prom, take him," Gladio whispered, having to stop himself from ripping Noctis away from Prompto when the man shakily reached for Noctis. His instincts were fighting against one another: Duty of the Shield to the King or Duty of a Man to his…

Gladio couldn't look down to Noctis, not now. He had failed him over and over, again and again since Altissia. Foolishly, angrily, Gladio had blamed everything on Noctis. Everything could be split neatly into the category of Before and After.

Before, Noctis had been his lover, a glue between the four of them. After, he had been the turpentine melting them apart.

Before, Noctis had been the endearingly lazy prince. After, Noctis was the self-absorbed and disinterested king.

Before, Noctis had been scared, but brave. After, Noctis had been—

Gladio threw out his hand and the pommel of Dominator appeared from the ether. Noctis made another sound of agony.

All this time… all this time… the connection to the arsenal, the Ring, the magic…

Every step forward had been a step of pain and agony for Noctis, and yet he walked tall.

The scream Gladio released as he swung down his sword against the Ring was everything he had inside of him: The ten years of darkness, the ten years of anger and pain and ignorance. Every nightmare, every curse against Noctis for leaving, and every ounce of self-loathing for not doing a better job.

Gladio was the failure, and always had been. He had been the one to make Noctis wear the Ring, had been the one who had been so insistent upon laying blame…

Now? Now Noctis was bleeding and writhing in agony and Gladio should have done a better fucking job, if not as a Shield then as a lover… as a friend.

He had failed Noctis in a way he would never be able to fix.

The shockwave of Dominator against the subway stones shattered the ground, spitting up gray dust. Yet when the dust settled Gladio could see the Ring of the Lucii glittering back at him, perfect and serene in its terrible, effervescent red glow.

Gladio fell to his knees next to the Ring and for the first time since he was a little boy nursing his wounded pride, Gladio allowed himself to cry.

* * *

Noctis woke to hands. There were hands on him, everywhere. A sea of hands and he was _drowning_ in them.

"S—stop," he croaked, blinking back the burn in his eyes. It had been ten years since he had been forced to use Alterna. In Zegnautus Keep… he had been so alone, withdrawn from humanity, and he had submitted to the Ring. He had given himself as fully as one human could do to the Ring without...without— "I'm….I'm okay."

He was anything but _**okay**_.

Alterna always hurt, but it had never hurt like _that_. Never had it felt like the blood and marrow was boiling, his flesh stripped right from the bone. It had hurt, Noctis remembered…. But not like that. This... this was the power Bahamut had given him. King of Kings, ripping apart the Universe over one Serpentess.

He would have done it again and again and again in a heartbeat.

Noctis felt two sets of hands remove themselves from his body, though another stayed firmly grasping him, holding him so delicately within such big hands. He didn't need to look up to know those were Gladio's hands.

After collecting himself, Noctis noticed that he was nearly naked and they were no longer inside the underground station. They were outside of the city, back at the camp right at the border between Lucis and Insomnia.

"We thought it best to retreat… to care for your wounds away from the daemons. They were… they were persistent."

Noctis tried to nod, but it was difficult to move his head. The first time he had used Alterna he had been all by himself, fighting against the Gargantua. His friends were gone, it had been days inside the Zegnautus Keep with only Ardyn's taunts and Prompto's imaginary coattails to keep him company. He had to pick himself up, to force himself forward.

That and the Ring's whisper—

Noctis jerked and bucked in Gladio's arms, scrambling to raise his right hand to his face, but it…. It wasn't there.

"I got it, Princess," Gladio said from above him, and Noctis stilled. It had been… it had been so long, since before Altissia, since Gladio had called him that. "Don't worry about the Ring. I've got it."

Noctis swallowed, noting the tightness at his throat. Prompto seemed to immediately notice and pulled the small water satchel from his waist. He and Ignis were crouching around him while Gladio had Noctis on his lap. He whispered something to Iggy as he leaned forward and pressed the bottle to Noctis's mouth, but Noctis was far too preoccupied by the water.

"Sorry about the taste. There's… there's not a lot of places you can get fresh water. We've been putting it into the arsenal for a while."

Noctis swallowed down the water greedily, unable to control his parched throat or the feeling of the coolness. Taste didn't matter because all he could taste was his own blood.

"Don't drink too much, you'll make yourself sick," Gladio urged, and Noctis nearly cried when Prompto pulled away the lip of the satchel.

Ignis let out a shuddered breath and Gladio's hands around him tightened ever so felt immeasurable anger at himself, at his own body, for not being able to have more control.

"Noct... you scared us back there."

Noctis turned his head into Gladio's chest. "Yeah," he replied. He just needed a moment to pull himself together.

"Prom, get a blanket from the tent. It's cold—"

Noctis shook his head. "Can we... just… go inside?" Noctis knew that nothing would ever take them back to the time before, the time when the sky was scattered with the glowing embers of a million stars, but the inky blackness… It was too much. If he could just stare up at the tent, he could pretend… just for a moment. Just… just until it stopped _hurting_.

When he had gone into the Crystal, Gladio had still been angry with him, and Noctis couldn't blame him. He had been angry with himself, angry with the world, angry that everything had unfolded the way it had. But ten years, starved of touch, of comfort…

If this was one of the last night's he had with them…

Gladio was gentle in picking him up, his entire body aching from the magic and the Ring. It was more of a comfort than Noctis could have ever put into words to not have the weight of the Ring around his finger. It always felt more like it was around his neck, pulled tight like a noose. His feet were always dangling on the edge, and soon...

Noctis slammed his eyes shut. He didn't want to think of this. No, not right now.

"Iggy… do you think you can cook something? Noct, you think you can eat?"

Noctis resisted the urge to say no. If he wanted his energy to return, if he wanted to take on Ardyn, he would have to do it. So he nodded as Gladio put him down on one of the blankets.

"Of course... some soup. Prompto, you can help me find the ingredients."

The tent fluttered in the icy breeze as Ignis took his leave, Prompto following only after tucking a blanket around Noctis's shoulders. He was able to give Prompto a small smile, which the blond returned.

Noctis tried to pretend like he couldn't see the red rimming Prompto's eyes.

After a moment, Noctis turned to Gladio, noting that the man was still kneeling next to him. He could see Gladio's face in the hint of the nearby firelight, the way his eyes were staring so intently on him. It felt like he was being inspected, like a bug under a microscope. Noctis tried to raise his hand to rub at his neck, but his hands felt like lead. It fell limply at his side.

"Hey, hey," Gladio muttered as he leaned over Noctis, "what do you need?"

"Just… stop looking at me like that."

Gladio's confusion morphed quickly to something Noctis had never seen on his Shield's face. He regretted his words instantly.

"Just... the pity. Don't look at me like that."

"Fuck, Noct… I… I didn't know."

Noctis closed his eyes. "Yeah, I know you didn't."

Noctis had always known the price of the Ring, and so had Gladio; they both had watched it change his father. Regis, once so strong and powerful… a husk, a shell, the broken vestiges of a king.

Even knowing that, even after having watched his father slowly die to give power to the Wall, Noctis hadn't understood until he had felt the Ring next to him on the bed after Altissia. He had felt it pulling him; it _wanted_ him, it wanted _**everything**_ of him…

"The arsenal?"

Noctis opened his eyes and looked to Gladio, realizing that the man was perfectly still except for his hands.

"It wasn't so bad. The… the Armiger was worse."

Gladio sighed. "That's why you didn't wanna use 'em."

Noctis said nothing.

"Shit. The magic?"

Noctis nodded and Gladio barked out a laugh that was somewhere between a howl and snarl.

"And you never said anything? Never told us that using this shit hurt you? It's my _job_ to keep you safe—"

Gladio's voice made Noctis's ear ring and he winced.

Gladio snapped his mouth shut and then, "I… I'm supposed to keep you safe. I can't… I can't keep you safe."

"No, you can't." Noctis knew his words were harsh, but he needed Gladio to understand. He _needed_ this. "This is something you can't protect me from, Gladio. Your dad couldn't do it, your grandfather couldn't do it. No one can." Keeping his voice controlled was harder than he thought, and Noctis coughed loudly.

Gladio grabbed his own water satchel and unscrewed the top, lifting it to Noctis's mouth.

After a moment of drinking, Noctis pulled his mouth away. "Th—thanks."

His friend didn't reply, instead pulling up one of his knees, wrapping his arm around it. Noctis knew it was best to allow Gladio to come to his words on his own time… otherwise it would just end in a massive fight, like the last time they tried to talk.

Finally, Gladio broke the silence. "It's always been my job to protect you." The firelight from outside shifted as an especially hard gust of wind blew against the tent. "How… how am I—"

 _How am I supposed to let you die?_

Noctis could see the words on Gladio's face, and he didn't want to hear them.

"You… you let me bring back the dawn." Noctis needed to be strong, because if his Shield was near breaking, he knew nothing would be able to hold them together. He was just so tired. He wanted this all, this whole world of ruin, to be over. All of the pain, all of the pulling of the Ring… "Let me be selfish, Gladdy."

"Huh? Selfish?" Gladio reached down and pulled Noctis's face into his arms. It was amazing that for a man who was so powerful how he could hold Noctis like he was a fragile piece of glass. And Noctis knew Gladio was right—he was a piece of glass; broken and sharp in places, ready to rip apart flesh. In others, he was smooth and peerless… and in others… he was just dust of something broken that could not be repaired.

"Yeah… making you guys go with me… making you wait."

Gladio smelled like firewood, earth, and the musk of sweat and a hard life lived. Burying his head into Gladio's shoulder, Noctis allowed himself to _feel_.

"Noct, no… I'm sorry. I pushed you, I didn't… I didn't know. I was angry and I needed you to be a king… I needed you to give me a duty." Gladio's arms were warm and fit around his body so easily. He felt like he did when he was a teenager again, where Gladio would pick him up and spin him around just to show how strong he was. Then, Noctis had gotten angry at being treated like a weight, but now… Now those times, those moments eternalized Gladio as he wanted to remember him. This moment… this was what Noctis wanted to remember.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be the king you needed," Noctis scratched out, feeling the sob wracking his sore, aching body. It hurt to cry, it hurt to _breathe_. "I—I'm sorry I wasn't… I wasn't better."

"Don't. Just… No, Noct." Gladio pulled away and ran his thumbs under Noctis's eyes. "Don't blame yourself."

Yet here Gladio was, blaming himself. "Hypocrite," he choked, and Gladio's face crumbled.

"Yeah, I am." Gladio rubbed his finger against Noctis's gaunt cheeks down to his beard, then back again in smooth circles. "We're… we're a fucking mess, aren't we?"

Noctis snorted his tears. "Can say that again, big guy."

Gladio's eyes were shining and it pulled at something inside of Noctis and he had to look away, but Gladio pulled his head down. He pressed a kiss to Noctis's forehead, his beard a comforting scratch against his nose. It was like those days so long ago, when they would just curl up in each other's arms after a day of monster fighting. That summer of searching for the Royal Arms, before the sun was eaten by the daemons…

"I… You know I love you, right?"

Gladio swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. Noctis felt something wet splash against his forehead and he used all the strength he had to awkwardly wrap his arms around Gladio.

"Yeah. I know."

"Good."

* * *

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